Boleyn, Fighter
by genuinemermaid
Summary: Though he knew the axe was raised above him and despite the fact that he was urgently spouting shaky death prayers, he still resisted and fought. It didn't matter that it was in vain; he couldn't give up, and he'd learned that from his sisters.


**A/N: After re-reading 'The Other Boleyn Girl' and watching the movie again, I admit to crying. The strangest part is that I cried harder when George died than I did when Anne did, and now I feel a smidge guilty. :/**

**Anyhow, I **_**love **_**George Boleyn. Though the reason that his death made a lump rise in my throat and made my heart beat faster is unknown, **_**this **_**is what came of it. I hope it was worth my misery! ;) And I'm pretty sure it's movie-verse, by the way, considering George _did _commit incest in the book and the movie portrays him as innocent.  


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**_~boleyn, fighter~  


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So here he was, George Boleyn, in the one position he never expected to find himself in; at the Tower, charged with incest with his own sister, for God's sake.

The young, spirited young man that he used to be would have never imagined that this would be his death. He would have pictured himself very old and frail, bundled up in many quilts with Mary on one side of him and Anne on the other, and the three of them laughing with each other and joking, just like they always had. But now, neither of his sisters were here. They would be if they could be - oh, they'd fight for him without hesitation, just as he would for them - but he knew the truth, however much he wished he did not; Anne was going to be killed, too, and this he was sure of. It was all because of that vile Jane Parker (he refused to admit that he had been married to the witch). Anne would be put to death just as he would be, and he feared to think of what might happen to Mary - his baby sister, his youngest sister, the golden-haired girl that was so innocent yet aware - knowing the nasty temper of Henry Tudor.

He knew as he was placed in front of the jeering crowd that he was _not _guilty. He was charged with incest with his sister Anne, but only he - and Anne, wherever she was now, if she was even still alive - knew that it did not happen. He loved his sister as a companion and nothing more. He loved her _very _much, but he had never desired her, nor did he now, in the last minutes of his life. He choked back a sob as he was lowered to a kneel in front of the stone block, and his head was forced onto the bloodstained wooden block; it was painted with the dry scarlet blood of so many other victims, who, like George, were probably wailing and shaking uncontrollably.

His thoughts flashed to his father and uncle, who had started all this to begin with. He disowned them - now, at the very end of his life, he disowned them. Look what they had done! Look at this! And they felt no guilt, he was sure. They might act ashamed, but anyone could create a façade, especially in the English court, where one could never find a person unmasked. Those foul fools! Those heartless beasts! He would never forgive them for what they had done to this family. Mary, poor little Marianne, forced to bed the king - to seduce him and put Katherine D'Aragon, whom she respected so much, to shame; She was forced to give him bastard children, though Thomas Boleyn and Uncle Howard knew it was useless. Anne -Annamaria - forced also to become a flirtation of the king, to become the reason that his marriage to the great Queen Katherine was annulled, the reason he split with the beloved Catholic Church; She became the Queen of England, but that was not enough for them, the greedy pigs. They had to put her in danger. They had to use her as if she were simply a pawn in the little game of theirs, some masochistic game in which death was ignored as long as they were made powerful. And another thing it caused - one of the most heartbreaking things of all - was a rift in the otherwise close relationship of Anne and Mary, fighting over something as petty as the attention of the horny, good-for-nothing king, who used them like kerchiefs and found himself a new mistress.

And though he did not want to pity himself, he knew that he must. George Boleyn was being executed only because they had married him off to the most insolent, nasty girl in the kingdom, who was jealous and petty unlike any other. He wondered briefly if they were satisfied. Did seeing two of their own being put to death bring them pleasure? Was this what they were aiming for the entire time? If it was, George wished they would've just had them all burned in the beginning - it would have spared them the pain of knowing that they had been used for the advancement of their foolish relatives, and they would have been _together_: Anne, Mary, and George.

His mother…his beautiful mother, who had protested this entire plot from the very beginning. He remembered her now - her kind face and pretty features, the way the wrinkles of her aged face creased when she was worried (he had not seen her smile for ages now). George hoped that Elizabeth Boleyn forced upon her brother and husband much guilt. The Lord above knew they deserved it.

It all came down to this, George thought: it was their fault in the first place, but really Jane Parker (Boleyn, he spat mentally; _Lady Rochford_) had manipulated it all, and had turned it all against him. God damn that horrible girl! Let her burn like the witch she is. Wasn't it supposed to be a man's world? Weren't women supposed to answer to their husbands? Sometimes, George supposed, it was switched around. Sometimes men were the victims, and sometimes women were. For whatever reason, George found himself loathing more than one person at a time. _Let them all burn in hell, let them die painfully…_

Though he knew the axe was raised above him and despite the fact that he was urgently spouting shaky death prayers, he still resisted and fought. It didn't matter that it was in vain; he couldn't give up, and he'd learned that from his sisters. Even if you know you've met your match, if you're at your end and nothing will change it, show the world that you won't go down without a fight. Struggle until you're at your last breath…

Because you _are _a Boleyn.

George writhed against the cold block and pressed his eyes closed against his salty warm tears, breathing a few more shaky, hoarse prayers before the axe fell.

"J-J-Jesus Ch-Christ receive my s-soul," he stuttered mournfully, gasping for breath. "G-God…God bless my sisters." He wailed a last time - the last sound ever to emit from him.

The axe fell with a muted thud, a few hateful cheers and whistles sounding from the by-standers. George Boleyn was no more.

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**End Note: Jeez.**

**On that happy note (insert sarcastic nod here)...I think I'm going to go do something nice for my brother, in case he gets beheaded or something.**

**-Chelsea :)**


End file.
